


Roommates

by islande



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Porn Star AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:44:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islande/pseuds/islande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigurd and Eirikur are roommates. One deals with annoying hipsters and open blinds, the other is a porn star. Basically PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> //sweats nervously this was written as a birthday gift for one of my friends and uh it was my first time actually writing smut so ;-;
> 
> happy birthday u nerd hope u like ur gay smut
> 
> (sigurd is norway and eirikur is iceland)

“Close the fucking blinds, Sig.”

“Stop fallin’ asleep on the couch, Eiri.”

They’d been roommates since Eirikur was a freshman and Sigurd was a sophomore. After a year, many things had become routine. Mornings were no exception. Sigurd would wake up an hour before Eirikur and down his coffee quickly before trudging to the bathroom to shower. Eirikur would rise from his bed, or more often, the futon in the living room, at no later than 8 A.M and curse Sigurd under his breath for not making him any coffee and leaving the blinds open—their shitty apartment got the first rays of sunlight in the morning. Both men would see each other briefly before one had to leave for a class. Sigurd rarely left after Eirikur; music theory hardly required him to be out of his dorm before 9 o’clock.

            Evenings varied much more. Eirikur was always home earlier than his roommate, but it was not something he minded. He would busy himself with homework and essays before heating up a Hot-Pocket and binge watching various television shows. Sigurd would be back before half past midnight—on Fridays and Saturdays, he sometimes would not come home—and Eirikur would mumble a half-assed “goodnight,” before making the long journey to his bedroom, where he would collapse onto his bed and dream about growing some balls and telling Sigurd he loved him.

            On occasions when Sigurd was out and Eirikur had bored himself, the Icelander would busy himself with other forms of entertainment. One such night, he found himself browsing through endless thumbnails of naked men in the midst of sex. He often imagined himself in one of their places, laying back and letting attractive men pound into him. It was in the middle of his mindless scrolling when a familiar face appeared in a thumbnail. Eirikur clicked on it, narrowing his eyes. The first thoughts to come into his head were of denial, then of faint disgust, then finally of lust. Leaning back, he stroked himself to the face of his roommate until he came into his hand. Satisfied, the laptop was closed. Eirikur sighed in content and bookmarked the page.

            Soon, this was a normal occurrence; Sigurd would leave their shared living space only to appear not ten minutes later on his roommate’s laptop, moaning and gasping. Eirikur would touch himself to the noises he made, closing his eyes and imagining Sigurd making those noises over him, his calloused hands exploring every inch of his pale body. Then he would climax, and the vision of Sigurd was banished from his mind until he was in the privacy of his own room, under the cover of night. With every video, his attraction for his older roommate increased, coiling in his abdomen until he relieved himself. At nights, when he was in bed alone, his mind was filled with images of Sigurd over him, fucking him until they both collapsed.

            As the weeks progressed, Eirikur was forced to think about the way this affected it feelings for his roommate. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that his discovery of Sigurd’s profession in no way lessened his feelings for him.

            Months passed without incident. Shortly before the end of the first semester, a poor and desperate Eirikur landed himself a job at an indie music store, selling vinyl discs five days a week. The job consisted of sorting through various albums, organizing them alphabetically, and dealing with obnoxiously pretentious hipsters traipsing through the store like it was Urban Outfitters. After a particularly bad experience with a brutally obtuse customer, he came home and immediately opened his laptop.

He was in the middle of his usual internet activities when Sigurd unexpectedly walked in. His dark navy eyes examined the scene in front of them: his roommate was in the living room, reclined on the sofa with his hand wrapped around his erect shaft. Oblivious to the intrusion, Eirikur continued to jack off, listening to the sounds of his roommate being fucked mercilessly. He remained oblivious even when said roommate crept towards him, looking over his shoulder.

            “This one is fairly new. Been keepin’ up with my work?”                     

The particular video Eirikur had been caught watching differed from the others Sigurd usually appeared in. There was no plot—the entirety of it was purely erotic. It began with Sigurd wearing nothing Eiikur had seen him in before; a dark corset was wrapped around his abdomen, followed by a frilly tulle skirt, which covered nothing a skirt was meant to, in a similar color. Under the skirt, Eirikur caught a glimpse of a thong. What had really done it for Eirikur, however, was what covered Sigurd’s legs. The camera panned down to reveal tight fishnets adorning the Norwegian’s long, shapely legs, stopping when Sigurd’s feet, which had been shoved into stilettos, were visible. The focus then moved to Sigurd’s face; his dark eyes were intensified with heavy, black eyeliner and mascara. Fake eyelashes had been added, making Sigurd’s face all the more seductive. Any and all blemishes had been covered up with concealer, leaving a flawless canvas for the red lipstick that covered his lips. The Sigurd in the video began to saunter towards a man tied to a chair. Eirikur got as far as watching Sigurd lower himself onto the unnamed man’s cock when Sigurd decided to make his presence known.

Eirikur’s eyes flew open and his hand snapped forward to close his laptop. Unfortunately for him, Sigurd was already five steps in front of him, and he was intent on making the younger man finish what he started. Swallowing thickly, Eirikur continued to watch, even when he felt a large hand wrap around his cock and begin to move. He moaned softly, curling his toes in pleasure as he released into Sigurd’s hand, blush evident on his cheeks. His breaths were uneven and shaky, a fact which was not eased by the closeness of Sigurd’s lips to his jawline.

            “Perhaps ya want a live show?” Sigurd said huskily, running his fingers along the length of Eirikur’s dick. “Or would ya prefer I just fuck ya like I do in the videos?”

            The question was met with a wheezy moan. Eirikur bit his lip, attempting to keep back any other noised that might fall from his lips. “I-” he hesitated. “I want you to… to do me.” With every word, the red on his face brightened until he looked ready to burst.

            Sigurd’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “I thought you’d never ask, Eiri,” he said seductively. His voice was rough and gravelly, but was attractive to Eirikur nonetheless. The younger of the two shivered as Sigurd winked at him and sauntered to his bedroom, motioning for Eirikur to follow him. After pulling up his pants, he obliged and followed Sigurd into his room. It took what seemed like an eternity to reach Sigurd’s bedroom. The hallway felt like it had been stretched for miles, and Sigurd’s door was a lifetime away. Finally, after what seemed like years, they reached Sigurd’s room.

            Eirikur had never taken a good look at Sigurd’s bedroom, and he’d never felt the need to. Both men liked their privacy, and they respected each other’s needs. Now, however, Sigurd was openly inviting Eirikur into his room, and Eirikur would be damned if he didn’t drink it all in. The door leading to Sigurd’s closet was just a bit to the left of the door to the room. In the middle of the room, pushed against the back wall, was Sigurd’s bed, a small nightstand to its right. Several duffel bags littered the space around his bed, the largest one having the privilege to sit atop his duvet. Directly across from the bed was his desk, which held a laptop, a lamp, and several folders. Eirikur slowly made his way to the bed, sitting on it cautiously. Sigurd let out a low laugh and grabbed the largest duffel bag, taking it to the bathroom. “I’ll be back,” he said, winking at the smaller man.

            Eirikur blushed and rolled his eyes. He’d always been curious as a child, a trait he never grew out of. He leant over the edge of the bed, staring at the duffel bags on the floor. He reached out tentatively to open the nearest one. He unzipped it, tension building within him as he revealed the contents of it…

            Clothes. Eirikur had opened a bag of average clothes. Somewhat disappointed, he moved on to the next bag, only to be met with the same thing. This continued until he came to the last bag. It seemed to be stuffed full of something, which Eirikur though was odd. This piqued his curiousity once more, compelling him to open the bag. This time, its contents made him gape and blush, but he was unable to close the bag.

            This time, the Icelander had opened a bag filled to the brim with sex toys. It seemed that an entire sex shop had been shoved into a single bag, there were so many toys. Eirikur’s hands reached down to touch them. There were cuffs, dildos, vibrators, ball gags, rope—whatever Eirikur could think of was in that bag. He held the cuffs up, admiring the condition they were in. It looked like the owner had taken good care of them. He then pulled out a dildo. He was no stranger to these; he had been through his experimental phase, in which these types of toys made frequent appearances. He was in the midst of admiring the shape of it when Sigurd stepped back into the room, wearing the exact same thing Eirikur had seen him wear in the video, the only exception being the makeup, which he had gone without.

            Eirikur’s head snapped up, and he began to sputter uncontrollably. His words only spilled out faster when Sigurd strolled towards him. “I- you—fuck, Sig…” He managed, leaning back as Sigurd moved over him.

           “I see you’ve found my collection,” Sigurd said, amused, “we won’t be using any of them. Not this time, at least.” His hands began working to undress Eirikur, pushing up his shirt. Eirikur pulled it off entirely, staring up into Sigurd’s eyes. Sigurd winked and lowered his head, poking out his tongue. He dragged it over one of Eirikur’s nipples, his hand moving up to pinch the other one and roll it between his fingers. Eirikur fought to hold back his moans, but his efforts were for naught, as Sigurd had experience with this. He gasped and arched his back as Sigurd toyed with his nipples, clenching the bedsheets tightly.

           Sigurd only smirked smugly and moved one of his hands down to work off Eirikur’s pants. It hadn’t been too difficult, as they’d only been pulled on loosely when Eirikur had been caught.  Once they were down to his ankles, Eirikur kicked them off sighing in relief. Sigurd knelt down between his legs, kissing the inner sides of Eirikur’s thighs, eliciting a breathy moan in return. He tugged Eirikur’s underwear off, grinning smugly at the erect cock that greeted him. He leaned forward and licked it from the base to the tip, swirling his tongue around the head. Eirikur moaned once more, moving a hand from the bedsheets to settle on Sigurd’s head and push it down. Sigurd raised an eyebrow, but obliged anyway.

             It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Eirikur how good Sigurd was at blowjobs; he’d seen him perform them countless times on countless men. Nonetheless, Eirikur still clenched his hand in his hair and arched his back, gasping for air. He looked down and was met with the sight of Sigurd’s lips wrapped tightly around his dick, his head bobbing up and down to a rhythm Eirikur could not hear. He held Sigurd’s bangs out of his face, for which he was rewarded with Sigurd deep-throating him and massaging his balls with one hand. He had been so close to an orgasm when Sigurd suddenly pulled away and stood up straight.

            “It’s a bit too hard to fuck someone while I wear this. I’m sure ya wouldn’t mind it if I took it off,” Sigurd drawled lazily, a knowing glint in his eyes.

            Eirikur shook his head slowly. “I don’t—I wouldn’t mind,” he confirmed shakily.

            Sigurd grinned wolfishly and pulled Eirikur into an upright position. He stepped back, reaching behind him to undo the clasps keeping the corset around him and tossed it aside. He then kicked of his heels before pulling off his skirt and tights in one fluid movement. Eirikur watched with round eyes as Sigurd walked towards him, his eyes only widening as the man in front of him pulled his hands to his hips and whispered, “You do the rest.” With shaky hands, Eirikur pulled the thong down, staring at the Sigurd’s member as he did so. When the garment fell to his ankles, Sigurd kicked them off and pushed Eirikur back onto the bed.

           “Sig…”

           Sigurd looked down at him. “Ja, Eiri?” he murmured, reaching for the lube in his nightstand.

           Eirikur watched as Sigurd coated his fingers generously with the substance. “I—nevermind,” he mumbled, looking aside as a blush spread on his cheeks once more.

           Sigurd, who found the whole thing to be amusing, raised an eyebrow. Eirikur gasped as he felt a cold, wet finger slide into him. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but it took some getting used to. Sigurd, who was well adapted to first-timers, knew his limits, and stayed within them. He’d only gotten up to the second knuckle when Eirikur complained.

           “I’m not new to this, Sig, you can go faster.”

           It had come as somewhat of a shock to Sigurd, but he nodded and pushed his finger all the way in before poking his entrance with another finger. Eirikur gasped in surprise, but didn’t protest when Sigurd pushed his index finger in to the second knuckle. He arched his back and curled his toes, letting out squeaky moans every so often. It wasn’t until Sigurd had three fingers in him when he lost control of his voice. He could no longer bit his lip and hold anything back; every noise he made was obvious. He prepared to withdraw his fingers, looking down at his roommate. “Are ya ready?” His voice was gruff, and if Eirikur hadn’t known him for such a long time, he might’ve been frightened.

          “I’m ready,” he assured him, staring up at Sigurd with growing confidence, “just don’t go so damn slow.”

          Sigurd’s response came in the form of a low laugh. Eirikur huffed as he watched him rub lube onto his shaft and position himself to fuck him. Sigurd looked at him as if to say, “Are you sure?” to which Eirikur replied with a short nod. Sigurd shrugged and pushed himself in, groaning quietly. Eirikur let out a choked moan, his nails digging into his palms. 

          Sigurd waited for the young man below him to adjust to his girth. Eirikur took deep breaths before nodding, telling Sigurd to go ahead. Slowly, the sounds of skin slapping against skin began to fill the small room, accompanied by guttural moans soon after. Navy eyes met lilac, and before either one of them knew it, their lips had met.

          It was awkward, at first. Sigurd’s lips were smooth and experienced, whereas Eirikur’s were dry and chapped, and hadn’t felt another pair of lips in a long time. Sigurd was accustomed to kissing men as experienced as he, or none at all. It had been a while since he’d touched someone as inexperienced as Eirikur. Teeth clacked together, spit dribbled down Eirikur’s chin, and neither one of them knew what to do with their tongues. After a bit, Sigurd attempted to slide his tongue into Eirikur’s mouth, only to draw back with a yelp of pain when Eirikur’s teeth came crashing down on it. Both parties ceased their movement, stunned. Slowly, Eirikur’s face began to turn red again as he tried to apologize, his words tripping over his tongue as he struggled to speak. He was interrupted by a faint snicker.

         He stared up at Sigurd, who had covered his mouth with his hand. Gradually, his immature snickers turned into a full-blown laugh. His lips, having lost the faint curve of a smirk, had grown into a smile that stretched across his face. Eirikur watched him, taking in the dimples on his cheeks and the way his eyes crinkled. He reached up and pulled Sigurd’s hand away from his face so he could stare unabashedly at his smile. He was enraptured with the way Sigurd’s lips moved when he laugh, with the way his teeth seemed to shine, even in the darkness of the room. The rise and fall of Sigurd’s voice as he laughed filled Eirikur’s ears, and he decided it was better than any hipster love song he’d ever heard at his shitty job. He was so caught up in the way Sigurd revealed himself to him that he didn't even hear himself say, “I love you.”

         The laughter evanesced until all was silent in the room. Then Eirikur was being kissed again, and Sigurd and began to move into him again. Sigurd’s lips never left Eirikur’s for long; even when one needed to breathe, he just kissed elsewhere. The few times they weren’t on Eirikur at all, the were whispering, “I love you too.” Eirikur felt a hand stroke his cock, and he bucked his hips up into Sigurd’s touch. “More, Sig, I want more,” he demanded, his voice now a falsetto. “I _need_ you, Sig.”

         Sigurd moved faster, fucking Eirikur until his throat was raw from all of his moaning. Eirikur tensed up, feeling the heat coil in his lower abdomen.

         “Relax, it feels better that way,” Sigurd advised, wrapping Eirikur’s legs around his hips.

         Eirikur followed his advice and relaxed, letting Sigurd pound into him as he had done in his fantasies so many times before. After what felt like a blissful eternity, Eirikur felt himself orgasm onto Sigurd’s chest, the force of it shaking his entire body. He moaned loudly, arching his back deeply. He nearly cried out as he felt Sigurd’s thrusts grow more erratic as he neared his own release. When it finally came, the groan he released was so guttural and rough that Eirikur almost wanted to cum again.

         The bed dipped slightly when Sigurd fell beside Eirikur, reaching down to lace their hands together. Eirikur rolled his eyes when he felt a pair of lips press against his temples, but his heart still did a backflip when he heard, “I love you, Eiri.”

         Sigurd quit his job the next day, deciding that he’d rather be jobless and having sex with someone he loved than employed to fuck strangers. The following week, he applied for and got a job at a coffee shop across the street from Eirikur’s workplace. Eirikur decided it was worth dealing with pretentious hipsters if he got to fuck his boyfriend on break.

 

 


End file.
